had wandered, and so
inland, through plains of fern and bramble, until the familiar black
keep of the Castle of Grosbois rose upon the left. Then, under the
guidance of Savary, we struck to the right down a sunken road, and so
over the shoulder of a hill until, on a further slope beyond, we saw the
old windmill black against the evening sky. Its upper window burned red
like a spot of blood in the last rays of the setting sun. Close by the
door stood a cart full of grain sacks, with the shafts pointing
downwards and the horse grazing at some distance. As we gazed, a woman
appeared upon the downs and stared round, with her hand over her eyes.

'See that!' said Savary eagerly. 'He is there sure enough, or why
should they be on their guard? Let us take this road which winds round
the hill, and they will not see us until we are at the very door.'

'Should we not gallop forward?' I suggested.

'The ground is too cut up. The longer way is the safer. As long as we
are upon the road they cannot tell us from any other travellers.'

We walked our horses along the path, therefore, with as unconcerned an
air as we could assume; but a sharp exclamation made us glance suddenly
round, and there was the woman standing on a hillock by the roadside and
gazing down at us with a face that was rigid with suspicion. The sight
of the military bearing of my companions changed all her fear into
certainties. In an instant she had whipped the shawl from her
shoulders, and was waving it frantically over her head. With a hearty
curse Savary spurred his horse up the bank and galloped straight for the
mill, with Gerard and myself at his heels.

It was only just in time. We were still a hundred paces from the door
when a man sprang out from it, and gazed about him, his head whisking
this way and that. There could be no mistaking the huge bristling
beard, the broad chest, and the rounded shoulders of Toussac. A glance
showed him that we would ride him down before he could get away, and he
sprang back into the mill, closing the heavy door with a clang behind
him.

'The window, Gerard, the window!' cried Savary.

There was a small, square window opening into the basement room of the
mill. The young hussar disengaged himself from the saddle and flew
through it as the clown goes through the hoops at Franconi's.
An instant later he had opened the door for us, with the blood streaming
from his face and hands.

'He has fled up the sta